


Softly Squeezing

by Gemi



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Body Horror, It is now, M/M, Season 4 Spoilers, horrorfluff, is that a thing?, soft hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:47:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22243570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemi/pseuds/Gemi
Summary: Ba-dum, he thinks as Jon’s heart beats too close against the skin.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 32
Kudos: 513





	Softly Squeezing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LineCrosser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LineCrosser/gifts).



It’s not that they never touch. 

Because they do, in fact, touch. They touch _a lot_ , to the point that Martin sometimes feels awkward about it. It’s such a new thing, touching so freely and constantly. To not have Jon bristle with it, but rather melt and press closer. Martin keeps expecting for the other shoe to drop. For Elias to chase them down, maybe even Daisy or that strange one that looked like Sasha but _wasn’t_ her. Or, worse- for Jon to remember it’s _Martin_ that is touching him.

None of that happen.

He squeezes Jon’s hand with his. Jon’s pointy shoulder bumps against him as they walk; Martin smooths out the mess Jon’s hair has become. Their fingers brush at breakfast, lunch and dinner. Kisses are exchanged and they settle into something peaceful, where Martin grows used to waking up to Jon breathing against the back of his neck, where he grows used to putting two spoons of sugar in Jon’s cup and Jon grows used to only adding one in Martin’s. Unless there is honey. Then he adds two. 

The reason it takes so long for Martin to find out is because he does his best to _not_ touch Jon’s chest.

Jonathan Sims crawled out of the Buried, after all. Not wanting to have pressure on his chest seems like a small price to pay for that incredible feat, and Martin has done his best to avoid it. Even a brief brush against Jon’s chest has his breath hitching, body tensing, face growing pale. 

So Martin doesn’t touch. 

It happens on a rainy day. It often rains, where they are. Daisy didn’t pick out her cottage for the nice weather. Jon is standing by the window and staring out at the darkness only heavy rain brings, the smattering against the windows loud and oddly calming all at once. It’s nothing like the Lonely, with its silent fog and the muted sound of crashing waves out of sight. This is just _loud_.

Martin wraps his arms around Jon’s belly and presses close, chin resting against Jon’s head. The other man grumbles but lets him stay, and Martin smiles against greying hair because of it. It’s nice. Cozy.

He feels Jon grab one of his hands. Clasping it between both of his, and Martin doesn’t think he will ever get used to how delicate Jon’s fingers are, or the strangely smooth burn scar on his right hand. The rest of Jon is pointy and worn down, but his fingers remain dexterous even with the scars. He never played the piano, laughed when Martin asked, but they _look_ like the kind of fingers that should play piano. Feel like it too.

“We’re not going into town today,” Jon says, and Martin huffs a laugh.

“I kind of assumed,” he replies, “Glad you don’t smoke anymore, right?”

Jonathan Sims sighs, dramatically loud, and Martin giggles against his hair, still messy from sleep. He uses his free hand to rub at Jon’s belly, bunching up his purple shirt. It’s soft and newer than most of Jon’s clothes, one of Martin’s favorites. 

“Yes, _Martin_ , I’m glad I don’t smoke anymore,” Jon says, but there is no bite in the grumpy words. He squirms, though. Tries to smooth out his shirt without letting Martin’s hand go. It’s clumsy and cute and Martin moves his hand out of the way, the free one, and he doesn’t really think. 

Jon’s breath hitches. Martin blinks and realizes, oh, right. He is about to snatch his hand away from Jon’s chest, but there is something. _Off_ . About it. So despite his better judgement he slides his hand up instead, not exactly sure _why_. Jon squirms, but it’s not panicked, and then he freezes. As does Martin.

Because there is- there is a hole. 

No, that’s not right. There’s a dip where there shouldn’t be, though. The kind of dip where Martin squeezes Jon’s waist when they kiss, except this is Jon’s chest. He’s _bony_. He’s a pointy man, there shouldn’t be such a soft spot by his ribs. Except there is, of course. 

Martin stares out into the rain. It’s still loud enough he thinks the old windows might shatter under the force of it. But it feels muted, too, like in the Lonely.

_Ba-dum_ , he thinks as Jon’s heart beats too close against the skin. 

“Jon,” he says, his boyfriend shivering against him, “Jon, your heart. I- I can feel it.” Martin thinks his voice should tremble when he says that. But it doesn’t- it comes out casual, like he is asking Jon if he wants a cup of tea. The heart- _Jon’s heart_ \- beats against his hand, and Martin can see Jon’s reflection in the window. It’s dark enough outside for it, but Jon isn’t meeting his eyes through it. He’s looking away, fiddling with Martin’s fingers in his still captured hand, thumb rubbing against a barely there scar by Martin’s knuckles.

“What happened?” Martin asks, and he shifts. Presses his mouth against Jon’s shoulder instead, hunches a bit to do it. Jon’s breathing is still a little bit off, and his heart beats faster against Martin’s hand. There is the strange urge to _squeeze_ , brief and intense and it makes Martin feel nauseous. He flattens his hand instead, fingertips touching Jon’s sternum because at least _that_ is in its place. “Where are your ribs? Jon?”

The silence hangs in the air for too long and not long enough. When it breaks, Martin isn’t prepared for the awkwardly hitched laugh, more of a nervous chuckle than anything, really. Jon leans away a bit, twist a bit, maybe he plans to turn around to meet Martin’s eyes.

But the idea of moving his hand away from Jon’s _heart_ feels impossible and awful and terrifying, and so Martin clings and keeps Jon where he is, even though they are alone in the cottage, even though they are _safe_.

“Well, actually,” Jon says, squeezing Martin’s hand between his, voice trembling just a little. He lets go of the hand, moves one of his own up to Martin’s other. The one now glued protectively to where there should be _ribs_ offering protection to something so precious.

“Funny story,” he says, and explains.

Martin doesn’t think it’s funny at all.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by [LineCrosser's](https://linecrosser.tumblr.com/post/190218731846/well-actually-funny-story-that-time-martin) lovely art! Please check it out, it's amazing <3


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